


Bring some wine

by mellyb6



Series: Tis a Women's World [6]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Aramis and hats, Cheating at Cards, Drinking, Fighting, night at the tavern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyb6/pseuds/mellyb6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musketeers spend a lot of their time in taverns. Some more than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by nettlestonehell's Tumblr post on Female representation: http://nettlestonenell.tumblr.com/post/114049003597/female-representation
> 
> And this prompt: The serving girl who serves your wine at your favorite tavern.

Porthos should be ashamed to rob d'Artagnan of the few coins he has. He should. He's not. It's the first night they spend together in a tavern. Athos is slumped on his table, drinking his second bottle of wine. Porthos would go to him if the man had not almost been executed earlier in the day. Athos deserves whatever makes him forget tonight.

 

D'Artagnan deserves to be taught a lesson for almost having one of Porthos' best friends killed. Cheating him at cards seems quite a good alternative to dueling. Besides, it is rather funny and entertaining to watch him be confused. The young man does not seem to understand how he can lose so many games of cards in a row.

 

“You should have told me you were a master at this,” he mumbles, reaches for his glass of wine to find it empty.

 

“Where would have been the fun in that?” Porthos answers, a sly grin stretching on his lips. He raises his hand to catch the attention of the serving girl, shaking the empty bottle in her direction to show they need more.

 

“Have you find yourself a new friend?” she asks over the racket coming from the other side of the large room, glass shattering to the dirty ground. More work for her, nothing she is not used to. She puts two bottles on the wooden table while studying d'Artagnan closely.

 

“This here is d'Artagnan,” Porthos explains. “He tried to kill Athos yesterday.” As far as introductions are concerned, d'Artagnan would have prefered a better one, especially as he notices how the young woman frowns then tilts her head in the direction of Athos' dark corner.

 

“It was a mistake,” he corrects.

 

“And you're still alive to tell the tale? Impressive. You do deserve some wine.” Porthos throws back his head laughing. D'Artagnan's cheeks take on a rosy colour, but later, he will say that it's because of the alcohol.

 

“That'll be ten sous,” she adds, hand open, palm up, eyes fixed on Porthos and the pile of coins in front of him.

 

“Ten sous? Come on, Laure. I'm introducing our young friend to the innumerable Parisian pleasures. That should at least lower the price to eight.”

 

“Ten.”

 

“Nine?”

 

“Ten. Or you'll have to come wash the dishes tomorrow. My father hasn't forgotten the mess you made the last time you were here.”

 

“That was Aramis' fault!”

 

“It wasn't Aramis who had cards up his sleeve, was it?”

 

“Are you cheating?” d'Artagnan exclaims suddenly, realizing why the other has been winning so easily. Porthos can only chuckle at the outrage in his eyes.

 

“Oh, honey. He's always cheating,” Laure informs d'Artagnan, patting his arm. She snatches coins from the table while Porthos is busy fighting off a young Gascon who demands another game with shirtsleeves rolled up their arms so it will be fair. This time.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It's the middle of the day. It's a bright day outside. Plenty of sunshine lighting up the inside of the tavern. It shines on the dirty glasses, the dirty bottles. It glimmers on the dusty tables and it makes a few patrons squint. Although wine and beer might have to account for that as well.

 

It's quiet despite the men drinking. Not too loud, not too crowded, a respite before the animation which will strike later tonight. Never a dull night when you work in such an establishment. Laure makes her way around the room, refills glasses, swats hands, gathers coins, picks shards of broken glass, wipes her hands on the once white apron tied at her waist.

 

“Can I have another one?”

 

She does not have to raise her head to know who the voice belongs to. He arrived a couple of hours ago, sat at his usual table, shielded from the sun, shielded from the outside world, left in peace by everybody else.

 

Laure glances at the two bottles lying on the table. One has clearly been toppled over on accident and wine is soaking Athos' hat. She picks it up and attempts to repair the damage.

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“I'm thirsty.”

 

“Where are the others?”

 

Athos raises his head enough to glower, but she is not deterred. She sits on the chair next to him, hat still in hands, even if it's clear she can do nothing more to clean it.

 

“Somewhere.”

 

“Certainly outside enjoying this fine weather. I remember Aramis saying something about pleasant walks in the gardens when it's warm and sunny. I would like to be able to do the same.”

 

“Then you should.”

 

“Some of us have to work for a living, Athos.”

 

“I do work for a living, Laure. Which is why I can afford to buy wine. More, please.”

 

“What about Porthos? Where is _he_?”

 

Athos shrugs, then throws his head back with a groan.

 

“I don't know. I know what you're doing. You will not send this son of yours after them so they can come and disturb me.”

 

“I don't see what they would disturb. They would keep you company.”

 

“I don't require company.”

 

Laure looks offended as she rises from her seat, almost flinging the hat on the table. Athos is not drunk enough not to realize the effect his words had on her.

 

“I meant not _their_ company. Not today. Yours is fine.”

 

“Because I am the path to alcohol?”

 

“Laure, please...”

 

He almost has it in his mind to go to another tavern if she continues to deny him what he wants. But this is his favourite tavern and he knows his friends will find him nevertheless. Besides, he does not trust himself enough to stand up and walk somewhere else. He's fine here, in his corner, with his grief and his shame. And Laure is nice and understanding. She cares.

 

She knows there's no point in standing up to him for ever. She would rather have him here where she can keep an eye on him than to know him wandering the streets on his own. She pats his arm fondly after placing an already half-empty bottle in front of him. Athos grunts to thank her and pays her more than what the alcohol is worth for her troubles.

 

Porthos gives her even more a few hours later when he comes to collect his friend.

 

“It's not good for him to drink alone,” Laure says sternly as Porthos secures Athos' arm around his shoulders to help him walk back to the Garrison.

 

“Don't I know it? He choose his moments well. Aramis and I were both on duty today.”

 

“You should ask your new friend to stay with him then. He's not a Musketeer, he is?”

 

“Who? D'Artagnan? No, he's not. We should do this, indeed. What do you think?” Porthos asks Aramis who is sadly assessing the damage done to Athos' hat.

 

“This hat will be ruined if he doesn't take better care of it!”

 

“I feel so much better seeing how deeply concerned you are with Athos' well-being.” Laure glares when Aramis whines. But he flashes her a bright grin, reaches to clasp her hand in his, and she cannot stay angry at him for long.

 

“Walk back with us?” Athos mumbles, voice thick and on the brink of dying away.

 

“Yes, why don't you walk back with us? Breathe some fresh air after being stuck in this damp room with _him_!”

 

Laure glances at the other clients, then at the other serving girl who will be more than capable of handling the work for a couple of hours. She loops her arm with Aramis'.

 

“Take some wine with you,” he whispers hastily, and she tugs on his hair. He puts Athos' hat on her head, and her lively laughter is the sound which lulls Athos to sleep. 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place sometime after Season 1 Episode 3 Commodities

It's incredibly loud in the tavern. The weather is dreadful outside; an early summer storm which has lurred many patrons inside. Laure does not mind: more customers, more money for her family. She does not mind running around the room with the other serving girls to attempt to fill all the glasses as quickly as she can. They are _not_ trying to make them drink less.

 

She does not mind the work. What she minds a little is the racket and the headache it is consequently giving her. There is someone somewhere playing an out-of-tune instrument. They have been telling him to stop but it greatly entertains his friends so it has added a broken melody to the noise.

 

Musketeers must have been paid today because they are swarming everywhere. Too many to stop and talk to them all. She does enjoy it when she can take a break at a table from time to time, though. They are in a good mood, ordering plenty, requesting more food, laughing ridiculously. And for once, Laure is pleased to note that Athos is not his usual recluse self.

 

"They're going to empty the cellar if they keep this up," another girl sighs while she retrieves some bottles from behind the counter. Laure leans against the wooden table, wipes her forehead.

 

"Do you mind?"

 

"Not at all. But I won't be the one to announce it if it comes to such an end." She grins then hastily makes her way to the men playing cards.

 

There is a pause in the disastrous musician's display, soon replaced by thunder. The windows shine with the flash of lightning. It feels safe inside. If she could, Laure would join d'Artagnan and gaze out of the window at the rain pattering against the frame and changing the streets into swamps.

 

If she could, she would sit down with a cup of her own, head thrown back against the wall, eyes closed, and she would listen to what seems to be a very captivating story told by Aramis. He is describing something with his hands, ruffling his hair every few seconds. There is a sly smile on his face and at one point, Laure cannot help but chuckle when Athos deems it important enough to stop drinking to glower at his friend.

 

Unfortunately, she has to return to her other occupations after a while. Watching the action is sometimes better than taking part in it when her feet hurt, her arms hurt, and she has not sat down for hours.

 

"This must be good wine, indeed, if you've managed to lose so much so fast," she teases Porthos. His fellow soldiers are boasting around the table as he frowns in confusion after his most recent loss. His coins are quickly passing into the hands of the other players. His eyes are a little glassy when he stares at her grin.

 

"It's because I'm injured," Porthos explains, bringing his left hand to his shoulder, touching the scar which has not completely healed.

 

"That was more than a month ago!" Aramis exclaims, interrupting his tale.

 

"Shut up," his friend replies, rolling his shoulders out of instinct and actually wincing at the move. The other Musketeers mock him openly, and Laure supposes she should bring him some more alcohol to soothe the pain: both to his body and his ego.

 

"Hey, darling, bring some for us as well," a man from the table beside theirs asks her as she walks by. Laure nods to show she heard him, keeping a tab in her head. She also has to ask someone to fetch more candles. The orange halos are dimming quickly and if the entire room turned dark, it would be a disaster.

 

She almost stumbles on her way back to the Musketeers. There is a pair of legs stretched in front of her that she failed to notice. The bottles tumble on her tray yet she steadies them easily, thankful for a second for the firm hand on her hip keeping her from falling head first.

 

"Thanks," she breathes out to the man. His hand does not move, though, the dirty fingers clutching her dress, touching more than what is appropriate. Laure glares down at him. "You can let me go now."

 

"Is that our wine?"

 

"It's for them," she explains, cocking her head at Porthos who rubs his hands as he settles for a new game of cards. He rocks on his chair, a dangerous move in his current state of drunkeness. "I'll bring yours right after."

 

Laure wriggles some more, but his grip on her body is too strong.

 

"I'm sure they can wait a bit more. We're parched. We've been waiting forever." His companions agree, nodding ferociously. One of them makes an attempt at grabbing the opened bottle of wine. Laure twists in his direction, furious.

 

"Listen, this isn't for _you_. Wait your turn." The man stands up, his eyes burning, dark and angry. He's drunk too much, and he is not happy. She takes a step back, jerking free from the other's grasp. She hates when customers can't hold their liquor and turn their fury on them.

 

"No, _you_ listen. We've paid and we...." He almost lunges for the wine, but Laure retreats further away. Her move is too hasty and the bottle falls to the floor, breaking to pieces. The man swears.

 

"See what you've done, stupid?"

 

"Excuse me? How dare you call me..."

 

"Apologize now," a stern voice commands in the dying racket. The musician has stopped playing, conversation are coming to a halt to concentrate on the argument. Laure casts a glance at the Musketeer flanking her left side, hands on his hips, close to his sword.

 

Aramis does not take his eyes off the other. All signs of his previous glee gone. The man squints in surprise, studies him then steps closer. Laure knows what is bound to happen if she does not let it go.

 

She is mad at the customer, thankful as ever that Aramis woudl stand up for her, just like his friends would. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Athos and Porthos ready to help their fellow soldier if need be. Yet, starting a brawl is not on her list of things to do tonight. It's not the first time someone has insulted her, certainly not the last. She will recover.

 

"Let it go, Aramis," she asks, putting one hand on his arm before kneeling to gather the bigger shards of glass. The rest will have to wait till morning.

 

"This is no way to talk to a woman," she hears him reply. There is a snort above her, and she feels someone else come to stand behind her.

 

"She's only here to serve us. If she can't even do that, I..."

 

"My friend told you to apologize. If you want to leave unharmed, I strongly advise you to do so." Porthos' cold voice washes over them all. Laure feels safer with them around, it softens the insults.

 

The two other men, as drunk as the one confronting the Musketeers, stand up as well. Laure decides it's probably better to forget the broken bottle entirely.

 

"Let it go, Aramis. Porthos."

 

"He called you stupid."

 

"He's drunk." She reminds Porthos.

 

"It's not an excuse."

 

"I'll be fine."

 

Aramis and Porthos share a look, conflicted between obeying the woman standing between them and their opponents, and teaching them a lesson. They know that if they start a fight, at least ten other Musketeers will join in. There is no question about who will win. But Porthos is still hurt, despite Aramis mocking him. And they don't want to make a mess that Laure would have to clean later.

 

Laure relaxes when she sees them turning around to go back to their previous occupations. They shake their heads, and Porthos grits his teeth as he casts a last cold glance at the three dunks.

 

Her cheeks are still flaming, but stupid men have never scared her before. She purposely walks by their table again.

 

"Musketeers' whore." It's only a whisper, yet loud enough for everyone sitting nearby to hear it. She gasps in spite of herself. Before she has time to balance her tray to slap him, the man is punched in the face, blood dripping from his nose. He blinks a couple of times until his vision steadies, only to be filled by an angry Athos, shaking his hand.

 

"I dare you to say that again."

 

All hopes of avoiding a fight vanish as Aramis gently pushes Laure behind him to protect her. He's trying to do the same with Porthos but it is ineffective.

 

The man spits at their feet.

 

"You're only proving my point." He smirks at Laure. "Whore."

 

"Who's calling my wife a whore?" In the sudden agitation, she had not seen him arrive. There's one hand on the customer's shoulder and he's swirled around. Before he has time to react to his new opponent, Jean hits him so hard he stumbles backwards into Aramis.

 

The soldier seems to have come to a new decision about their actions, because he simply tackles the drunk man to the floor, holding him in place while Laure's husband beats him. If she thought the Musketeers were bothered by how she was treated, it is nothing to how mad Jean is. She does not know who went to tell him there was a problem, or who even thought about going to the kitchen, but she feels better.

 

Even more so when Athos punches another man and d'Artagnan and his young friends (freshly recruits, she assumes) crowd against the last one, saving Porthos from injuring his shoulder further.

 

There is a general cheer once the three disrupters are thrown outside in the rain. They are barely conscious, and do not move from the puddle in which they land.

 

"My hero," Laure laughs sweetly, twining her hands around her husband's neck and kissing his cheek. He is still fuming, so are the Musketeers who came to her rescue. Aramis is picking dirty hay from his hair, Athos is rubbing his knuckles and Porthos is complaining that he would have been able to help if _only_ they had let him.

 

"Thank you," Jean tells them, his arm looped around Laure's waist.

 

"Always a pleasure to help. Although I'm not sure Laure actually needs it with you around."

 

"It feels like I have my own guards. It should rain more often."

 

d'Artagnan laughs out loud.

 

"We should be paid more often," Aramis corrects. It reminds Porthos that he forgot the coins he won on the table and he hurries to make sure nobody has stolen them. Life has gone back to normal after their little interlude, even though people clear a path for the Musketeer when he marches to his corner.

 

"Wine on me tonight, Messieurs." Jean decides, steering his wife and her manly entourage to their table. He will settle the matter of payment with his father tomorrow.

 

A few minutes later, Laure is happily settled against the window, gazing at the rain and the condensation along with d'Artagnan. And when Aramis includes Jean in the lively revival of his scandalous adventures from the previous night, she finally understands why Athos was glowering earlier.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on my Tumblr: http://i-own-loki.tumblr.com/


End file.
